Do you feel lucky?

To my knowledge, all the major actors of the “golden age” of Hollywood are dead. As a consequence, the grim reaper is moving through the next rank, viz. Marlon Brando, Paul Newman, Charlton Heston.

The “golden age” movie stars tended to be personalities rather than actors. Method acting changed that. In general, today’s movie stars are better actors—but by the same token, less distinctive.

There’s a sense in which I think that Clint Eastwood is the most important actor of his generation. By that I don’t mean that he’s the best actor of his generation.

In some ways he’s a throwback to the golden age inasmuch as he is less of an actor than a presence. He doesn’t disappear into a role. He’s not a chameleon. Rather, he stars in certain roles which are suited to his personality.

As he’s aged, his personality has undergone some change, some depth, which is reflected in some of his later roles, like the Unforgiven.

But what makes him important, from a pop cultural standpoint, is that he projects a worldview—in a way that most actors do not.

This is partly rooted in his personal experience. He comes from working class background. He also served in the armed forces.

The younger generation came of age after the draft, so that’s an experience which they don’t have. And I think it shows. He played lean, tough-guy roles cuz life was lean and tough when he was growing up.

His worldview is also rooted in the Western genre. The Western genre was already on the way out when I was coming on the scene. To some extent, it was transposed to the SF genre.

The cowboy of the Western genre is, to some extent, an American version of the medieval knight. His code of honor has its historical antecedents in the chivalric code.

Eastwood’s Dirty Harry films are simply modern, urban Westerns. And, of course, he’s also made a number of films specific to the Western genre.

There are remnants of the chivalric code in his work, but it’s been secularized to a high degree, with a corresponding inversion of values.

A common theme, both of his Westerns, and the Dirty Harry series, is the role of the avenger. And it’s cast in ironic terms.

In classic Westerns, the lawman was the good guy and the outlaw was the bad guy. But in his films, he plays the righteous outlaw, confronting the unrighteous lawman.

Even when he himself is nominally a lawman, he is, in effect, an outsider. Justice, and not the law, is his overriding concern. His characters constantly skirt the edges of vigilantism.

This is one of the things that makes him a loner. An anti-hero.

But there’s another factor that contributes to his moral isolation. Although some of his films exploit Biblical motifs, there’s a fundamentally atheistic outlook to his cinematic vision.

His characters seem to inhabit a world which is not just ungodly, but truly godless. There is no cosmic justice. No divine intervention. It’s every man for himself.

Eastwood, both onscreen and off-screen, is a paradigmatic libertarian. And it’s libertarian, in part, because it’s so secular. You’re on your own in this world.

I think libertarianism is the default setting of fallen men. Do your own thing, as long as you don’t impose your values on someone else. (Of course, that’s impossible in practice.)

Vengeance is now or never. Retribution delayed is retribution denied. There is no God to right the scales of justice. It’s up to you.

This is reinforced by the iconography of the Western genre. Landscape has a symbolic resonance. And the symbolism varies with the landscape.

The rugged and often austere majesty of the “wild wild west” is emblematic of man’s mortality and vulnerability in a hostile wilderness. Man’s exile from Eden.

As a director, Eastwood has a good eye for the landscape. A bleak backdrop to a bleak worldview (e.g. High Plains Drifter, Pale Rider, Unforgiven).

This is not only true for his Westerns. Dirty Harry was originally situated in New York. Eastwood wisely resituated the story to San Francisco, which is more atmospheric and naturalistic than New York.

Take the scene on the deserted docks at the end of Magnum Force. All that empty space in the background (the water and the low-lying hills) accentuates his isolation, as he must fend for himself against the rogue policemen.

His worldview also reflects, unconsciously or not, the secular existentialism of an atheist like Camus. His characters have their own honor code. And they are incorruptible in relation to their own honor code. They have too much self-respect to compromise their values.

There’s a certain purity to his moral outlook, like spraying Agent Orange on a jungle. Defoliated purity. Manly and merciless.

And yet the code of honor is quite arbitrary. His characters retain an unshakable sense of justice in a world which—to all appearances—is not only unjust but—at a deeper level—amoral. Beyond good and evil. You live, you die, and that’s that.

Eastwood’s vision is powerful, but grim—and ultimately irrational. There is no right or wrong to underwrite his sense of right and wrong.

As such, his signature films present a striking comparison and contrast to the Christian worldview. Their moral vision is ultimately indebted to Christian tradition. But they’ve also lost touch with their moral foundations—leading to a tight cycle of wanton cruelty and private revenge. The most you can hope for is getting even before you die.